A Tiny Bell

I pushed past the bottom flap of the back door into the garden path. Right beneath the dry, trailing twigs of the rosemary bush lay a withered acorn cap caught against an empty snail shell. I paused, letting the cool noon breeze settle before stepping close. With both plush paws, I gently tapped the ridged shell against the rough wooden cup. It rang out with a tiny, hollow tick that echoed faintly among the fragrant green needles. I tucked my paws underneath myself, resting my chin against the damp soil while the quiet note faded away.